Dominance and Deception (28 page)

"Or maybe I'd be dead. Hindsight's a wonderful thing, but he didn't know who was after me at the time."

"Yeah, and he didn't see you that first week, either,” Santoro said, his tone sharp. “It was like he'd cut out your heart and taken it with him, Faye."

"Tommy.” Beaumont gave him a warning look.

I watched each of them in turn as the atmosphere turned awkward.

"All of you blame him?"

Layton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I dunno, Faye. I know his intentions were good, but he could have come up with some other way, maybe. I don't see how, though, so I'm gonna just let it go."

Gratefully, I nodded, holding his gaze for a moment before I turned to the man on my left. “Bill?"

"Zach has made some bad decisions in the past, my dear,” he said. “But to hurt you like that... It's clear he saw no other option. I won't hold a grudge."

I smiled at him, and he nodded, smiling back.

I looked over at Beaumont. “You, too, Erica?"

Beaumont looked thoughtful. “It was the most tactically-efficient strategy,” she answered. “On the other hand, being hurt like that is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I can see both sides, but I just want everything to go back to normal as soon as it can. I haven't confronted Pierce, and I won't."

I relaxed a little—Beaumont's wrath could be more fearsome than Santoro's and Layton's combined.

"Thank you.” Santoro sighed, and I fixed him with a pleading look. “I don't blame him, so why should you?"

"Because someone has to."

"He blames himself, can't you see that? Please, Tommy. Put yourself in his place. I just want things like they used to be, before all this. With everyone together, friendships and pranks and coffee... I've missed it. I've missed
us
.” I turned to look at the rest of them. “You guys were there for me when I needed it, and I can't thank you enough. But you were handling me with kid gloves, and I don't even wanna
think
about what the atmosphere was like in the squad room... I don't want that any more. I need this to be over. Please?"

For a second, everyone was quiet, absorbing my words. Then Santoro put an arm around my shoulders, making sure he didn't agitate my wounds.

"Then it's over."

Not caring about the pain, I enveloped him in a tight hug, letting go only when Bill cautioned me against straining my stitches. While I settled down, Santoro got up and headed over to my DVD collection, scanning the titles before plucking one from the shelf.

"I'm thinking we should watch this when Pierce gets back. The guy has
no
excuse for not seeing it after dating you for as long as he has."

Recognising the artwork on the case from a distance, I broke into a grin. “
Labyrinth
! Aww, that'd be perfect right about now."

Until Pierce got back, we fell into our usual repartee, Santoro bombarding us with useless facts about the movie until Beaumont became irritated enough to tell him to shut up. Bill and I looked on in amusement as Layton chipped in on Beaumont's behalf.

When my Dom arrived back at the apartment I was the first one to notice, and his eyes sought me out before anything else.

Missed you
, I mouthed to him, and he smiled, the expression telling me all I needed to know.

Pierce

While Bill related the story of how he'd once seen David Bowie from a distance, back in the eighties, I took the stuff I'd picked up from my place into Faye's room. When I heard someone follow me, I assumed it was my little tease, until Santoro spoke.

"Boss."

Remembering our heated exchange in the elevator, I regarded him warily. “Santoro."

"Just wanted to apologise. Well, not apologise, but, you know. You had a tough call to make, and you made it."

The younger cop's words seemed ambivalent, and I suspected he'd have borne a grudge for a little longer if not for Faye's persuasive influence. But I chose to take Santoro's words at face value, briefly laying a hand on his shoulder as I moved past him.

"It was a tough day for both of us."

With that, the rift between us was repaired, at least outwardly. Time would do the rest, just as it would heal Faye's wounds.

As a team, we watched the movie Faye and Santoro were so excited about, although most of the dialogue was obscured by Beaumont's contempt for the main character's ineptitude and her resultant bickering with Santoro. I barely paid attention, choosing instead to just enjoy the carefree atmosphere that had been absent from the squad room over the past month. I'd missed it, though I knew within a week I'd be yearning for some peace and quiet.

That evening, after everyone had left and Faye was lying, exhausted but happy, with her head in my lap, I thought about the collar stashed away among my belongings. It was rightfully hers, but I didn't want to reintroduce it to the relationship until she had healed enough, mentally and physically, to deal with the re-collaring ceremony I knew she craved.

Though her wounds were dressed and slowly beginning to heal, the deep shock of her brief captivity and torture was only just starting to fade. And when she started awake from a light doze with a gasp, tears in her eyes, I drew her gently into my lap, enfolding her in my arms as sobs wracked her body.

"Let it go, little tease... Take all the time you need."

With the commissioner's blessing, I took a couple of weeks off work to stay with Faye, and for the first few days she barely left my side. Her sleep was frequently interrupted by nightmares that left her distressed and trembling, and I held her as close as her injuries permitted as she whispered to me in the dark, relating over several tearful nights the full story of the hours spent with Aldridge.

I listened to the details with gritted teeth, safe in the knowledge that the darkness masked the rage and guilt on my face. But when she kissed my chest softly and said, “It's okay,” I realised my mistake. She knew. She was so well-attuned to the sounds of my breathing and heart rate, and the amount of tension I held in my muscles, that she couldn't possibly
not
have known.

"It's not okay, Faye,” I told her, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone and bringing it away damp with the remnants of her tears.

She placed her hand over mine, and I dimly saw the outline of her head as she raised it from the pillow. “It
is
okay, Sir. There's no point in feeling guilty about something that wasn't your fault. It was all him. I know you did everything you could, for me
and
his brother."

By the middle of the second week, Faye's stitches had broken down, leaving the wounds closed and well on the way to healing completely. Her left arm was mostly painless, but the deeper, muscle-deep cuts on the right limb had a way to go yet. She wouldn't know the extent of the scarring until the scabs were gone.

Her legs were a different story. The burns had been at the more severe end of second degree, and although the blisters had deflated, the skin was still sore and angry. She didn't complain, but I could see the impatience in her eyes whenever she changed the dressings.

"Take your time,” I said quietly, and she sighed, smoothing her hand over the fresh dressing and getting up to sit beside me.

"I just want this to be healed, Sir."

She rested her head on my shoulder, and I put a careful arm around her. When she looked up at me there was a glimmer of irritation in her eyes. “I don't want you to be scared of holding me. I don't wanna have to hold back with you."

I gently kissed her forehead, understanding her frustration. “Will it make it easier if I order you to be patient?"

She nodded. “A little."

I tilted her chin up with a finger, modifying my tone a little. “You deal with this, little tease. It's my decision when we move forward. Nothing you do can change my mind."

A slight tremor went through her, and I mentally questioned my last statement. I could almost feel the power exchange between us, feel her ceding the responsibility to me, and the urge to order her to her knees was almost overwhelming. I tried to keep it from my face, but I was a split second too late, and one corner of her mouth twitched upwards in an ironic smile. “Now you know how I feel."

Faye

Fifteen days after my abduction, Pierce was called in to work for the reopening of a cold case he'd worked on, way back when. He had no choice but to go, but I saw how the idea frustrated him.

"I'm fine,” I reassured him, smiling a little at his over-protectiveness and getting up to hug him.

My grip wasn't as tight with my right arm as with my left, but Bill had told me it was only the pain preventing it, and that once I'd healed completely, I'd be back to almost strangling the recipients of my embraces in no time.

I read the doubt in Pierce's eyes when I pulled back, and dared to roll my eyes at him. “Seriously. I'm over it. Go to work."

Strangely enough, it was true. Immediately after my rescue I'd have felt anxious about being left alone, but after being the centre of Pierce's attention for over a fortnight, that fear had left me. Only a couple of my post-traumatic dreams had focussed on his leaving me, and his attentive responses when I'd woken up had soothed away any subconscious doubts.

He fixed me with a long, analytical look before relenting. “You need anything, Faye...you call me.” Until I nodded my agreement, he didn't budge, but then he kissed me goodbye and left.

Smiling, I stood still for a moment, adjusting to the silence and the knowledge that I'd be alone for more than thirty minutes. Then I headed to my PC, setting my music volume up higher than it had been in over a month and engrossing myself in the video game Layton had got me hooked on a few months ago.

The day passed uneventfully, which calmed Pierce's fears a little, and the rest of the week flew by. On Saturday morning I slipped out of bed and headed for the shower, knowing the move would wake my Dom and that by the time I emerged from the bathroom he'd be out in the living room, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand.

I finished blow-drying my hair and went to find him, walking into the room just as he was sitting down.

"Morning, Sir.” Before he could reply, I dropped into a position so familiar it sent shivers down my spine—kneeling at his feet with my back against the couch.

For a second he was silent and I kept still, resisting the urge to look up and gauge his reaction.

"Sure your legs are up to that?” His voice was low, and I read the real question behind his words—was I sure I was psychologically ready to kneel for him again?

I didn't bother to answer, leaning my head against his knee with a faint smile. Psychologically speaking, I'd never left.

Relenting, with the firm order for me to move if I got too uncomfortable, he trailed his fingers through my loose, red locks. A tiny shiver passed through me, and he leant forward to rest his hand against my bare neck.

"I've been thinking about this, little tease,” he said casually, and I couldn't hold in the hope in my expression. He read the question in my eyes and shook his head. “Soon."

I deflated a little, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly, sending desire sweeping through my body in a tingling wave. My eyes fell closed at the display of dominance, and his chuckle made me catch my breath.

"Not today. Or tomorrow.” He withdrew his hand, and I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to settle down and listen to his words. “Maybe not even next week. But we need to renegotiate, and I want you clear-headed when we do."

I bit my lip and nodded, feeling a flash of resentment towards the madman who'd tortured me. It was bad enough that I was injured, but this went deeper than that. Pierce hadn't had to ask me about my limits since he'd collared me, and he shouldn't have had to now.

Pierce interpreted my mood correctly and crooked a finger, beckoning for me to join him on the couch. I slid onto his lap and he enfolded me in his arms.

"I know. But things have changed, and I need to know how much."

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could begin he shook his head.

"You even think about exaggerating what you can take, little tease, and I'll deny you permission to come for a year."

Wincing, I re-evaluated. I'd been planning to tell him that nothing had changed, as long as he went easy on the sites of my scars. I just wanted things to be normal again, and part of me was terrified Pierce would be disappointed in me for my increased limits, though logically I knew he never would.

"Psychologically, I can still take everything I could before,” I began slowly. “Except...the obvious. Stuff that's happened. Kidnap scenes, scenes where you pretend you don't care..."

Pierce nodded. “And physically?"

I thought about it carefully, taking my time, and he didn't rush me. While I was being tortured, I'd compared the pain to the controlled kind Pierce meted out to me, concluding the two were nothing alike. Put in the position of being given pain again, though... My mind recoiled at the thought.

"I don't think I can, Sir,” I whispered. It made me nauseous to utter the words—the pain side of play was something I'd never thought I'd stop relishing, and I knew Pierce enjoyed my reactions to the varied sensations as much as I used to love receiving them. “Not even if I'm not tied up. I'm sorry..."

"Faye.” He tilted my chin up, seeking my gaze and holding it as he told me, “The play... it's not the focus of our relationship. If you said to me you wanted to stay completely vanilla from now on—no orders, no collars, no physical play—I'd agree to it. Without hesitation. You're my girl first, and my slave second."

A warm glow tingled through me, and I relaxed a little, a slight smile touching my lips as I nodded.

"Just bear in mind any punishment I give you will be psychological for now,” he reminded me.

I agreed softly, making a mental note not to act out for the foreseeable future. I'd always found mental punishments harder to bear than physical ones—until now.

"I'll be good, Sir."

He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back.